


Too Much and Not Enough

by teacuphuman



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Happy Ending, Jack has complicated feelings, M/M, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 07:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17844818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: 5 times Jack worries he's too much for Bitty and one time he doesn't.





	Too Much and Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kedgeree11 (kedgeree)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/gifts).



> Kedgeree asked for this fic ages ago and I'm so sorry for the wait, but here it is! I hope it lives up to your expectations!

1.

Jack doesn’t give too much thought to the incoming frogs until he sees Bittle for the first time. Abstractly, he knows integrating them into the team is important, but he figured they at least had to be up to snuff when they got here. Bittle is... less than he expected. And yet somehow, so much more. He’s fast and sharp, a team player, but he’s  _ small _ . Jack knows size isn’t everything in hockey, Theo Fleury proved that, but as far as Jack can tell, Bittle is no Fleury. He’s soft. Light.  _ Nice _ .

 

He spends the preseason waiting for Bittle to crack. He doesn’t chirp the kid, Bittle has to earn that, instead Jack relies on brutal honesty so Bittle knows how he doesn’t measure up. Jack comments on the food he eats, the weights he lifts, and the time he spends on the ice. He avoids Bittle’s offer of friendship and food, convinced he’s not doing the kid any favours by codling him.

 

When Bittle collapses on the ice the first time, Jack has a moment of actual worry and is ready to lie into Holster for the hit, but Holster’s check didn’t connect and the confused looks he gets from the rest of the team point him to the real problem. He tries to talk to the coaches, but they’re determined to give the kid a fair shake, despite all evidence pointing towards Bittle not deserving it. Instead, he goes on the attack, convincing himself he’s doing Bittle a favour by telling him to get over his little fainting problem or get out.

 

And that’s when things change.

 

He sees his own anger reflected in the hard lines of Bittle’s face, the flush of embarrassment at being called out in front of the rest of the team in his cheeks. But he also recognizes the determination in the deep brown of Bittle’s eyes, and that’s what shakes him. Bittle wants this. He wants it enough to put up with Jack’s endless criticisms, the extra practices, and the shame of failure. And even with all that, Bittle steps onto the ice with his head held high, fight in his heart and stick in his hand. Jack knows a little about trying to succeed when everyone else has already written you off and having to wrestle back control of your own narrative. He’s still fighting that battle and for the first time he thinks maybe he can learn something from Bittle.

 

He’s still not convinced hockey is where Bittle belongs, but he decides to stop blocking the play and go for the assist.

 

2.

Jack’s life has become a study in contrasts over the last year. There are times it feels so full of joy, and experiences, and brotherhood, and then his phone will ring, reminding him of the future that’s waiting; a hundred different paths to consider, all of which could leave him broken and alone. Academically, he’s earned his degree, broadened his horizons and amassed a wealth of knowledge, but there’s still so much out there to understand. Like how to make it through a season without hating the man staring back at you in the mirror. He’s thrilled by the offers on the table, but terrified of leaving Samwell. He knows he’s done more growing here than anywhere else, and part of him is terrified of stepping beyond its borders. Samwell is Home.

 

Kissing Bitty feels both predestined and implausible and needing his father to spell it out for him is humbling to say the least. He wonders at the ignorance of his own feelings. How do you fall for someone and not even notice? He’ll have to ask Shitty. Later. After. Because right now he needs to taste Bitty again.

 

It’s there, in Bitty’s upturned face. Relief. Bitty didn’t think Jack liked him, didn’t  _ want _ him. And he does, mon Dieu, does he ever want Bitty. Jack wants to sit Bitty in his lap and kiss him until they’re both lightheaded and punch-drunk. To learn the shape of Bitty’s tongue and the tremor of every breath he takes. He wants to lay Bitty down and study him. He learned a lot in this room over four years, but he feels ignorant and thirsty for knowledge in a way he never has before.

 

But he’s leaving. He has to. He’s made promises and signed contracts, and it doesn’t matter that he didn’t know this would be so important. That Bitty would become something he needs as much as hockey.

 

One more kiss, and then another, and his phone is buzzing in his pocket, and people are waiting on him, and Bitty knows, Jack can see it in his eyes, that maybe this is all they get. These few minutes in the Haus where no one can see them and they don’t have to pretend. Because out there, in the real world that’s still waiting for Jack to prove himself, that’s where they’ll have to hide. Bitty deserves more than that. More than Jack can give him.

 

But Jack’s always been selfish at his core and he can’t tell Bitty no now that he knows how they both feel.

 

“I’ll text you.”

 

It’s an inadequate promise, but he means it. Bitty still looks stunned and Jack wishes he had time to explain, to convince him this is real. He swears he won’t wait to tell Bitty just how deep his feelings go, and he doesn’t. His phone is in his hand before he’s out the front door, his fingers sloppy on the keyboard, hands shaking with emotion as he asks Bitty to take a leap of faith with him.

 

3.

Jack’s never been one for delayed gratification. Working hard for long-term results is one thing, but you can’t win on the ice if you don’t lace up your skates, so when he tells Bitty he loves him, he makes sure he does it sooner rather than later. It doesn’t feel rushed, or preemptive, it just feels... right.

 

Jack’s glad they’ve said it when he starts wincing at the word ‘girlfriend’. He wants to correct them, the words almost fall out of his mouth when Tater brings it up because Bits put the smile on his face and he deserves the credit. But they’ve discussed this and as much as Jack hates it, Bitty agrees that it’s not the right time.  

 

But it’s harder than Jack thought it would be to keep this secret. He’s in love for the first time and he wants to share that with people. Maybe not all the people, but the guys he’s grown close to on the team, the Samwell crew, his parents. He feels like they deserve it after putting all their faith in him. He wants to show them all the work they helped him do was worth it because it brought him to Bitty.

 

And he knows hiding them is weighing on Bitty. He already struggles with keeping his sexuality from his parents and now Jack’s put this on him, too. It’s awkward when they’re together but not alone, the easy camaraderie they worked so hard for as teammates dissolving into averted eyes and stunted fist bumps when neither of them can find words to replace what they really want to say. Bits is strong, but Jack worries about breaking him. Of Bitty growing resentful, of every assurance of ‘fine’ being one more crack in the ice.

 

4.

The light in Bitty’s eyes is dimming with every whispered Skype session, his smile growing strained when there are other people around and Jacks knows if he’s seeing it, others are as well. No one’s said anything to him, but he saw the way Ransom and Lardo stuck close to Bitty when Jack visited last week. The way Holster’s hand landed on Bits’ shoulder every time he passed by.

 

When Jack’s at home alone he loves having pieces of Bitty around him. The flashcards on the couch, the toothbrush nestled beside his own by the sink. The cookbooks and butter that increase in number every time Bitty visits. Bitty’s clothes are in Jack’s dresser and every time he unearths another pair of shorts he reminds himself of the commitment they’ve made. The promise to communicate with and make time for each other.

 

It doesn’t feel like enough anymore, to have Bitty so ingrained in all aspects of his life except the ones that matter most. He’s desperate to introduce him to the Falconers, to kiss him in the kitchen of the Haus. To hold his hand in the quad. So when he gets off the plane to several missed calls and the break in Bitty’s voice when he answers the phone, it’s not a hard decision to make.

 

Being with Jack like this is hurting Bitty, and that’s the last thing Jack ever wants. It’s not fair, and he doesn’t want to live like this anymore. It’s there, in Bitty’s words and in the tears he knows are on Bitty’s cheeks. This is the end.

 

But Bitty isn’t weak and Jack isn’t shy. Not in this. They can’t be if they want to make it through this rough patch. So Jack drives, in the dark and the rain, until he’s standing on the porch and Bitty is blinking up at him. Because Bitty needs to know Jack is in this with him and that they can change the play if it’s not working. Because they’re not just building a team here, Jack and Bitty are building a legacy.

 

5.

Eighty-two games in the season. Sixteen teams in the playoffs. Best of seven to cinch the cup. And they do it; they win. Jack knows the crowd is roaring and his teammates are shouting, but it all takes a backseat once he takes his shot. The sound comes crashing back in when the siren goes off, and he’s enveloped in the breath-stealing, sweat-stench of a celly unlike any he’s experienced before. He takes a moment to enjoy it, squeezing Thirdy back just as hard as he’s squeezing Jack and pressing his sweaty head against Snowy’s helmet in thanks and praise. He can hear Tater yelling, but he can’t see him through the crowd.

 

And then he hears the sound he loves the most. Jack’s name from Bitty’s lips, over and over as he makes his way across the ice. Jack hauls him in close, everything around them dropping away in this moment of perfect calm amidst the chaos of his first Stanley Cup win. Bitty’s there, and he’s warm and solid and Jack wants.

 

He wants to always see that joy on Bitty’s face and know he put it there. He wants to pick Bits up and swing him around, share with him the glory he feels; that he’s  _ earned _ . He wants to thank Bitty for his part in getting Jack to this moment. To show off this amazing man who held Jack up when he thought all he could do was fall. To make everyone see how brave Bitty is.

 

And he is; always has been. Braver than Jack in most things, but at this moment, Jack will meet him halfway. The kiss is slow, but firm. It’s the start of a whole new world for them and an end to another. There’s no going back and Jack holds Bitty closer because he’s so excited to find out what’s ahead of them. It won’t be easy, and there will be consequences to face, but if there’s one thing they’ve proven in the last three years, it’s that they’re better as a team. Because Bitty makes him stronger. Happier. Complete. With Bitty by Jack’s side he feels like there’s no way they can lose.

 

+1.

Life isn’t perfect, but it’s hard to remember that when Bitty’s kneeling in front of him, tears in his eyes and a shaky smile on his lips as he waits for Jack’s answer. Because Bits waited until the off season and after they returned from a much-needed vacation that Jack remembers little of because Bitty, sunshine, and little red shorts were his only priorities.

 

Bitty is asking now, in the house they picked out together, in Jack’s favourite room, on the couch they christened the moment the movers left. Because this is their moment. And proposing here, like this, is Bitty’s way of telling Jack it’s not because Bitty feels bad the Falcs were eliminated in the second round, or because he’s indulging in the fantasy of time away from their real lives. He asks here, now, because Bitty is all in. He wants Jack, and all that comes with him, forever. It’s a calculated play and Bitty’s executed it perfectly. On the ice he always knew just where to pass the puck so all Jack had to do was aim. And score.

 

There are no sirens, no lights, and no roaring crowd when Jack says yes, but there are tears, and kisses, and the feeling of of elation at having accomplished something great. Something hard won and lasting. Something ’swawesome.

 


End file.
